


Patience, and Good Things

by magicnoire (inkstone)



Category: Exiles - Rawn
Genre: F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstone/pseuds/magicnoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from a fief, isolated in the Waste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience, and Good Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



> Thank you for requesting this fandom, dear recipient. It's been a while since I've read these books, but I still love them madly, uncompleted though the trilogy may be.

"You do realize no rose is ever going to grow here in the Waste?"

Cailet watched Josselin work the hard earth with a determination that boggled the mind. Of all the places on Lenfell, he actually intended to grow roses here? The greenhouse had been a brilliant idea but this... She didn't know whether to feel envious for such bright optimism or to lament that one of Mikel's more ridiculous ideas had taken root.

"We'll never know unless we try." He flashed her a smile that would have made other women weak in the knees, or possibly faint. In fact, Cailet had no doubt he probably _had_ made other women faint under different circumstances, in better locations, at less dire times.

As for Cailet, it only made her breath catch. A little. And only for a second.

_Keep telling yourself that, Caisha, and maybe one day you'll believe it._

Shut up, Gorsha.

Josselin swept black curls back from a forehead barely damp with sweat. Cailet eyed the rusting hoe he slung over his shoulder with no small amount of skepticism. That ancient thing looked about as sturdy as this latest plan to make Scraller's Fief inhabitable.

"They might not be as pretty as the roses Lady Sarra sent along with me when I went to Mage Hall--"

"There aren't as many either."

"But," Joss continued, blithely ignoring her, "it's a start."

A beginning. Again. Cailet was growing increasingly weary of beginnings. Would it never end?

_Not until you're dead,_ Gorsha helpfully supplied.

Cailet grimaced. And maybe not even then. The former First Sword was enough proof of that. A twinge of guilt accompanied the thought but she let it be. Enough years had passed that she'd grown accustomed to the feeling.

Most times.

Thankfully, Josselin provided a distraction. Perhaps not an entirely welcome one but a distraction all the same. "The roses need time. That's all. Remember the wall back at Mage Hall?"

She did. She also remembered the initial reactions to his arrival: her sister's gifts may have been the cream of the horticulture crop but in the eyes of even the most ardent gardener, they couldn't hold a candle to Josselin himself. But he'd planted Sarra's rosebushes, had tended and nurtured them until they blossomed.

Still, that was Mage Hall. This was the Waste. "I grew up here," Cailet reminded him gently, knowing his insistence upon the rosebushes had less to do with stubborn male pride and more to do with assuaging Sarra's terrible, silent grief. There were days Cailet found herself at a loss when it came to Sarra. Her older sister had never been one for being coddled and treated with kid gloves but the silence -- _oh, the silence!_ \-- truly worried her. Since when had Sarra opted for silence over speaking her mind? So perhaps she should be grateful for Josselin's efforts, even though the conclusion was foregone. "They won't grow."

"If you listen to the stories, I've travelled every bit of the Waste . Maybe I picked up a trick or two." He scratched his head, fingers knotting in his hair. "They might not grow. But they might surprise us. They could. We just have to wait and see." He shrugged. "Besides, Mikel was right. This place needs more prettifying than the one back at Mage Hall ever did."

Cailet couldn't really disagree. "I thought you wanted our headquarters to be an imposing stronghold."

"Every stronghold needs a bit of nature to keep it grounded."

Well, she thought, surveying the five sickly rosebushes Josselin had somehow obtained through means best left unknown to her. If someone could grow roses in the Waste, she supposed it would be Verald Jescarin's son.

*

Mikel had taken to spending a lot of time with Josselin. Not that Cailet had any reason to complain. They all knew who the traitor was now, and it hadn't been Josselin, a truth that still made her cringe in her private moments. There was no need to worry about his trying to get in either her or Sarra's good graces. There was no need to plan against his spying and feeding information to the Malerrisi. There was no need to wonder about how and when he could destroy them.  
Of course, the last had already been done and with spectacular success. Cailet wondered if Lenfell would ever recover from Glenin's machinations and what, exactly, Jored, Glenin's son, Cailet's nephew, was planning now.

But as she watched Josselin help Mikel with a particularly stubborn charm, Cailet wondered if she still had reason to worry. Because while Josselin only ever focused on helping Mikel with working out spells that eluded him, Mikel only ever seemed to talk about Taigan.

"You know," Mikel said one day while Cailet watched surreptitiously from a safe distance. Mikel had mastered the basic concepts and could execute the charm with little problem but sometimes maintaining it got the better of him. "Taigan is struggling with this one. I tried to help her with it but you know how she is. She gets mad that I learned it faster than her." He shook his head. "Some things never change. First Daughters, you know? I don't think she'd mind so much if it were you though. Do you think you'd have time?"

"Of course," Josselin replied unconcerned, seemingly unaware of the implication.

Cailet almost laughed at the flummoxed expression on her nephew's face but she had to give him credit: he didn't let Josselin's ambivalent innocence deter him from his matchmaking. Men. She laughed silently. Stubborn to the core.

Of course, she also wasn't fooled by Josselin in the slightest. With that face, he'd no doubt been on the receiving end of matchmaking attempts, both the veiled and the not-so-veiled. Granted, she was also sure that number didn't even remotely approach the multitude of people who'd propositioned him for themselves but even so, Cailet refused to believe he didn't see what exactly Mikel was trying to do. Even without his personal history, Josselin was far too smart for that.

Josselin chose that moment to glance up and looked straight in her direction, grey eyes twinkling. In some corner of her mind, Cailet wondered how he managed to do that -- to always find her location no matter where she stood: in a crowd, in a corner, in the shadows. Perhaps the wards gave her away.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Gorsha chuckled. _Rest assured, Caisha. It isn't that. It isn't that at all._

Then what is it? Something in his words sent her defenses up. They held a sort of wry amusement that teachers usually reserved for a particularly slow student.

_Patience, Caisha. Patience, and good things._

It took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes. Somehow, she managed. She'd had years of practice, after all. To Josselin, she nodded and he smiled back before refocusing his attention on Mikel.

*

"You know you can't avoid this forever."

Josselin conjured a Mage Globe to match hers, and Cailet watched as it hovered, dancing in mid-air around hers. "I don't see why it's even necessary."

"There are so few of us now," she snapped. "I tolerated your dawdling at Mage Hall. I can't afford to anymore. This is how Mage Guardians are tempered."

"I've made it clear that I want nothing more than to be one of your Mage Guardians but not if it means that I have to try and kill you." Cailet wasn't sure how to interpret the intense look he gave her. "If it comes to that, I'd rather remain a Prentice for the rest of my life. I'd be in good company."

His steadfast refusal on this point, even here, even _now_, never failed to irk her like nothing else. "Your grandfather and my sister notwithstanding, that would be a waste."

His Mage Globe pushed at hers a bit, just a little nudge that sent it slightly off its intended orbit. Cailet smiled thinly and gave a little _push_ back to send Josselin's Globe bouncing in his direction.

But she hadn't exaggerated. She hadn't lied. It wasn't her way to build up talent when it wasn't there. Josselin had been gifted in his classes, in ways that she suspected Jored was not, assumed disguise or no. She couldn't stand to see--

"If I'm wasting my talent," Josselin said, as if he could read her thoughts and perhaps he could -- battles with Mage Globes revealed more about the combatants than mere words ever could, "then that is my choice. It's my talent to waste and my decision to use it as I wish."

Cailet knew she was being unfair. For his entire life, Josselin had lived on the charity of others -- few of which were genuine and sincere and the rest of which wanted something from him. Mirya Witte had wanted him for his body, for instance. How different was she turning out to be, insisting he give her his talent and ability along with everything else? By aligning with them, Josselin had sentenced himself to the life of a fugitive and criminal. Had he chosen differently, he could be living the pampered life as some rich lady's husband. There was little doubt more Bloods than Mirya Witte would have taken him. His considerable looks could trade for considerable wealth.

Did he regret it at all?

Heavy thoughts, heavier connotations. And far too easy to dwell upon rather that focus upon their impromptu practice match. The Globes contained no real power, all mellow and gentle energy, but just so. It was a bad habit to install in someone, even if he was as stubborn a student as Josselin Mikleine. Cailet called her Globe back and stepped away. "All right," she conceded. "I'll accept your decision."

Josselin voiced what was left unsaid. "For now?"

Cailet tipped her head. It was easier to do than to meet his steady gaze. Why was she finding it harder and harder to meet his eyes these days? "We all have to make a choice."

*

  
Cailet awoke with a gasp, a sharp inhale of breath that sparked an uncontrollable fit of coughing. It took her a moment to regain her bearings before she realized she was in the bed Mikel and Josselin had built for her, sheets tangled around her legs, flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows along the walls. It was that damnable dream again, the one about the faceless man on top of her. She rubbed her neck uneasily, reinforcing the ward around her maimed breast out of habit. She hadn't had that dream in years, not until they'd come to Scraller's Fief when it'd suddenly restarted a recurring cycle with a vengeance.

_Why now?_ she asked silently, knowing no one would answer, not even Gorsha.

Wide awake now and resigned to not getting any more sleep for the rest of the night, she climbed out of the bed. Admittedly, sleep had eluded her for many weeks since Jored's attack. She'd never been able to get a decent night's worth of sleep under the best of conditions and their present circumstances were anything but.

She conjured a small Mage Globe and used it to light the way as she trudged from her room, down the many stairs and corridors to the kitchens, which were easily the most civilized section of the Fief.

Cailet stopped in mid-motion when she caught sight of who was already there.

Josselin turned at the sound of her approach and promptly spilled the hot coffee he was pouring all over his hands. He jerked back, breath hissing through his teeth. Of course, that only succeeded in knocking over mug and pot, to dump their contents all over the counter, floor, and him.

He made a sound in his throat. Cailet couldn't help but be impressed. In anyone else, that sound would have been unmistakably that of pain. In Josselin, it could only be described as dismay.

She snagged a rag to help mop up the mess and dropped to the floor beside him. "I won't ask what you're doing up. I'm certainly in no position to cast stones."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Not really," he replied. He shook out his hands and examined them, shaking his head.

Cailet peered at them. The coffee hadn't been scalding but it had been hot enough that she could see his dark skin had been singed. "Do you need bandages?"

He shook his head and rose. Cailet followed suit, inexplicably well-aware of how he towered over her. The sleep deprivation was obviously getting to her. Even so, she took a small step back. Josselin noticed but chose not to comment on it, a fact that left Cailet strangely disappointed.

Josselin wiped his hands dry with another rag. "I tried to help out Taigan with her magic today."

Grateful for the conversation, she grinned. "And how did that go?"

"It..." Josselin fumbled here, searching for words. But Cailet knew; there was no mistaking the slightly trapped expression in his eyes. She wondered if that had been what Collan -- _oh, Collan_, she thought wistfully -- had seen on the day he'd met this young man.

Cailet took pity on him. "Finally getting sick of Mikel nudging Teggie in your direction, eh?"

"No, it's not that." He froze, closed his eyes briefly and sucked his lips between his teeth. "That... came out wrong."

"Oh, no." Cailet found herself picking up the conversation train. It was entertaining enough to distract her from her dreams, sleepless nights, and the situation in which the Mage Guardians had found themselves. "I think it came out clearly enough." She ignored his dark glance. "You have to see it from Mikel's point of view. He never liked Jored. And you have enough of a resemblance to him--"

Josselin grimaced and began to make another pot of coffee.

"An improved version, to be sure, but there's no denying the physical similarities." Cailet wondered briefly why his vanity had chosen this moment to manifest itself. Josselin was quite possibly the least vain person she'd ever met, a fact that confounded even the most accepting friend. "He probably thinks Teggie's affections will switch easily to you because of it."

"And if I don't want it?" he asked in a low voice, deep and intense with an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint. Cailet returned his stare with a raised brow. He was saying something with those eyes but damned if she could figure out what it was.

"Then I suggest you tell him that yourself. Before Taigan begins to take him up on his suggestion."

Josselin gave an inelegant snort. "You don't actually believe he's been encouraging her in my direction?"

"They're twins," she replied. "Of _course_ that's exactly what he's been doing!"

What he did next surprised her.

He sighed, and then said under his breath, "That complicates things."

Cailet wasn't meant to hear; of that she was sure. But something perverse made her ask anyway: "Complicates what?"

Josselin averted his gaze and busied himself with the coffee. No amount of prodding or attempts to restart their conversation yielded results. He had retreated back into his quiet shell. If only it was due to his shyness and not to what she said.

The problem was Cailet didn't understand why exactly her question had been so unwelcome.

*

"You do realize wandering around this place in the dark is decidedly odd?" The light in Sarra's black eyes was a welcome sight. Cailet didn't know the last time when she'd seen them shine genuinely like that, without the shadow of grief to dim their laughter.

"It's not that strange. I'm sure you've done more than your fair share of walking around in the dark when you have too many thoughts in your head. And I know you, Sasha." She held up a hand to forestall a protest. "You _always_ have too many thoughts chasing each other around in that mind of yours."

Sarra gave a slight laugh. "Right you are, little sister." She nudged Cailet towards her side of the fief. "You should go to bed. I've heard you traipsing around this place for the past five nights straight. Do you ever get any sleep?"

"I'm the Captal," she retorted. "Of course not."

"I know you meant that as a joke but there's too much truth in it." Sarra shook her head. "I know you worry, but it won't do us much good if you collapse."

"I won't collapse." Sarra eyed her sidelong. "I _won't_." She softened her voice. "I promise."

Sarra studied her for a moment, then sighed. "All right. But do try to get some rest, will you? You have everything you need, right?"

What an odd question. "Of course." And with that, Cailet bid her sister good night. Still, the memory of her sister's expression lingered. There had been something strange about it. Like Sarra had known a great secret but didn't want to ruin the surprise.

_You definitely need sleep,_ she chided herself. _You're becoming delusional._

I don't disagree with the need for sleep but delusional? No. Hardly.

But when Cailet tried to pry more information out of him, Gorsha fell completely, utterly, silent.

She was beginning to hate that.

*

When Cailet returned to her room, she found Josselin standing on her balcony. The unexpected invasion of her personal sanctuary took her aback. "What are you doing--?"

A Mage Globe rose in the air beside him, brilliant and luminescent in the black Waste night. A small part of Cailet felt relieved; it was better than a candle. The rest of her stared in disbelief. An attack? No, surely not.

When Josselin said nothing, she tried again, using her most official-sounding voice. "What are you doing in the Captal's quarters?"

"Not much of a Captal's quarters," he replied with a smile. Then it faded, and his face turned serious. That, combined with the intense focus in his eyes, left her bereft of words. "I've made my choice," he said quietly.

It took her a moment, longer than it should have really, considering how she'd been pushing him towards this place for so long. She smiled and conjured a Mage Globe to match his. "You know," she said, stepping towards him. "There are better places to do this."

He shook his head. "No, I think there is no better place than this." And with that, he sent his Mage Globe forward slight in her direction. Almost like he asked a question with it.

Perhaps he did. And as she conjured a counter Globe, Cailet wondered if she'd been missing something these past several weeks. If, without her paying attention, something between them -- unfailingly, steadily, inexorably, _finally_ \-- had changed.

And when their Mage Globes struck one another, as Cailet gave him an answer, Josselin smiled.


End file.
